


Don’t You Ever Tame Your Demons (but Always Keep ‘Em on a Leash)

by AToZRainToBe



Series: Arsonist’s Lullaby - Hozier [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AToZRainToBe/pseuds/AToZRainToBe
Summary: (Title from “Arsonists Lullaby”, By Hozier.)Everybody is here. You can see it in the writings they leave behind, the small messages of encouragement and hope, the hellos and well-wishes.Yes, Everybody is here.(Or, I read a post about those cave-drawings of hands being a symbolism of them reaching through history and going “we are here, we lived, remember us” and I can’t help but think about how humanity does that now so I made this.)
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: Arsonist’s Lullaby - Hozier [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043136
Comments: 12
Kudos: 173





	Don’t You Ever Tame Your Demons (but Always Keep ‘Em on a Leash)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to “All You Have Is Your Fire (And The Place You Need To Reach)”.

Everybody is here.

In the dawn of the night there are remnants of everyone. There are houses, still constructed and cared for, those are obvious. But there are small things- like a note scrawled in mud, dried into the wood of the fence post near Nikki’s old house. 

Messages that say things like; “Hi :D”, “I love you”, “We’ll get through this”. Things that no one may search for, but they’re there nonetheless. Someone put them there, and someone has read them, and they have been passed or added to by every soul that walks past. 

Everybody is here.

There’s the memory of a joke near the community house, a sign with messy writing deeming fireworks illegal, signed by two boys (one handwriting messier than the other). It is passed everyday, and left as it is. That is the mark of their youth. 

There are angry messages that are torn down with the podium. Blown to ashes and never recovered- small things like; “Schlatt drank again”, “Hi, we’ll get through this”, and “Flatty Patty was here”. Big things like; “I hate Schlatt. Here’s a list…”, “Schlatt made Tubbo decorate his funeral.”, or “NOV. 16 - God I hope we win.”.

In those messages lies the fury of strangers, the love of their kind, the people who have passed and decided to leave a Mark. 

Everybody is here. 

If you were to travel up a flight of stairs, past an unfinished shop and it’s parking lot, you would find a bench sitting under a tree. It’s new, remade every time its torn down. But it has marks, thousands, left by two boys. 

There is; “Tubbo, Hi Big Man :D”, “Tommy ! hello !!”, “You’ll get through this”, and “I’m fucking sick of that duck”. In the middle of the bench there is a shaky heart, carved into the seat by two boys when an explosion took all they had, when one became the president and the other his right hand man; “Tubbo And Tommy- Best Friends Forever.”.

One of them grows up. The other does not. Neither move on. 

Everybody is here. 

In the retelling of history, villains are often unjust and cruel. They tell you a tale of a man who ruled a nation and was overthrown by those he cast away. They tell you a tale of a president drove crazy by his own benefit, struck with belief that destroying was better than creating. They tell you these things, and you believe them. 

What happened to them before is left unsaid. What happens to the boys who fight against them, who free the nation, is left unsaid. The house is left in ruins, burnt and fiery. The inscriptions on the walls, the final memory of a boy who never lived the way he wanted to, is burnt with it. 

You never see the small inscriptions those villains left around the backs of houses or on the benches they sat on. You never see the drawings they doodle on their notebooks or the notes they paste onto their skin. Why? 

This time, Tommy does not wake up. He does not respawn. The only memory of him are marks left on walls that people will scrub away for fear of remembering him. And he will be forgotten, surely, except he won’t. There is one boy who will tell his story, one who will know those messages are his, and for Tommy that’s all he needs. 

On the bench sits a boy with brown hair. He leaves an indent in the wood, as if he were speaking to the boy; “Tommy,” One final mark reads, scrawled hastily and in between tears. “I miss you.” 

Everybody is here. 

Everybody but him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed !! 
> 
> Remember to love yourselves and others <3


End file.
